


The Man With The One Track Mind

by SwimmingBird



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Hobbies, M/M, Unusual Hobbies, if i've done this correctly, it isn't what you think it is, lurve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-19 06:47:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2378804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwimmingBird/pseuds/SwimmingBird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The prompt was:<br/>"littleowls3 said: "Few people know Mycroft has a hobby, and even fewer know he's fanatical about..." Fill the prompt with whatever strikes your fancy-from erotic to serious to cracky! Any rating, any pairing (or none), just please no Holmescest."</p><p>I hope you like it! (Sorry for the unacceptably long delay.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Man With The One Track Mind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [3littleowls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/3littleowls/gifts).



> Note: Don’t panic! There’s no Holmescest, it’s all Mystrade.  
> Whew, I hope you like it!
> 
> The World of Sherlock Holmes, in all its various variations, does not belong to me. This is Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's, Gatiss's, and Moffat's sandbox, I'm just playing in it.

* * *

 

_"All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,_

_All play and no work makes Jack a mere toy."_

-Maria Edgeworth

 

* * *

 

“Yes… Yes sir, absolutely… it won’t happen again.”

…

“It will be resolved by week’s end.”

The caller at the end of the line disconnected abruptly and the receiver went dead. With utter exhaustion taking over, the man replaced the phone back in its dock on his massive desk. Files were strewn all over his usually military neat desk.

_How could have things gone so completely pear-shaped?_

The government official let his already hanging head slide into his open palms as his elbows rested on his desk. He dragged his head towards his desk forcing his fingers through his thinning hair. The situations in the Middle East and the Eastern Block were total disasters. Aside from the political fallout, the agents he had in place had close calls, too close. The man heard a knock at his office door. He erased the emotions that were clear on his face moments before. He was an Englishman of course, stiff upper lip and all.

“Come in,” he managed to command.

A woman in a charcoal grey business suit opened the door with a Blackberry in one hand and the other on the knob of the door.

“Sir, your car is here. Are you ready?”

“Yes, Anthea, thank you. Tell the driver I’ll meet him in five minutes.”

“Mr. Holmes… Mycroft, are you—”

“That is all” Mycroft cut her off swiftly, with a rare show of the teeth and aggression he kept well-hidden. His assistant looked taken aback. He paused and calmly continued “I apologize…thank you, Anthea. I should be ready to depart soon.”

Anthea nodded and closed the door behind her.

The man wearily packed his briefcase and straightened his suit as he stood up from his chair. After collecting all his belongings he made his way to the door and out of the club.

He saw his chauffeur as the man nodded and opened the car door for the government official.

“All ready, Mr. Holmes?”

“Yes, Percy, to home please.”

Mycroft sat in the car, slumped over leaning against the car door for support. The partition dividing him and driver afforded Mycroft privacy, there was no one he needed to mask his feelings for. As the drive progressed, he could see and hear that a massive thunderstorm had taken the city. And it was at this moment that Mycroft realized that he forgot his favored brolly at the office. He internally cursed the lost of his trademark protection against the oft present London rains.

It was all too soon that the car arrived in front of his townhouse, and instead of waiting for Percy to open his door, he made a speedy jaunt to his front door. Mycroft just wanted to weather the rest of the awful day in safe territory. He fumbled with his keys to open the door and dropped the keys on the ground, all the while his suit became soaked as the rain saturated the city. As he bent down to retrieve his keys, he noticed a rectangular package, around 1.5 feet in length, 7 inches in height, and 7 inches in width. He snatched his keys and package from the ground and opened the door.

Immediately after Mr. Holmes made his way inside, he closed and locked the door and slammed his back against the entrance as if to barricade himself from the outside world. He gave a heaving sigh of all encompassing relief. His home was the one place he could find peace and could truly be himself; no masks, no games, just his small piece of the world.

After collecting himself, he lovingly set his package on the entryway side table. He smoothed his hand over the top of the rough cardboard package, no doubt reflecting on the rare contents within. Dragging his eyes up to the mirror that hung over the small table, he saw a tired middle-aged man. He could barely recognize himself in the reflection.

The man before him was sopping wet, his face pale and sickly. His eyes were bloodshot from too many sleepless nights, and large bags were drooping below to match. His hair, usually in perfect form, was mussed from his treatment towards it in the office and the battering of the storm. His face was covered with wrinkles he did not remember having. He shook himself to snap out of what would become a depressive-self-pitying spiral.

Mycroft turned and made the journey up the stairs, grasping tight to the banister as he went. He entered a large military neat bedroom and stripped his three piece fitted suit with calm mechanical grace that spoke of years of practice.

Finally, he walked into an adjoining master bathroom. It was modern, all monochrome and sharp angles, unlike the rest of his home that was highly ornate and decorative. He stepped into the shower stall with a large glass door and turned the shower knob to the highest pressure and hottest setting possible. The man let the water pound on his face and body, before taking a loofah and vigorously scrubbing every inch of himself to the point where his whole body tingled and blushed red. After a long shower, he felt satisfied with his work.

Mycroft was flushed, head to toe. He couldn’t help but smile, he stepped out of the shower, relishing the soft fluffy bathroom rug under his feet, allowing himself some enjoyment of feeling the soft cotton fibers between his wiggling toes. He grabbed a towel off of a heated rack mounted on the wall of the bathroom, briskly drying himself with the terrycloth towel.

He was clean and dry, and he felt more like himself. Mycroft walked back into his bedroom with a spring in his step. He made his way to his bed and knelt alongside it to reach underneath. He retrieved a white cardboard clothing box that spoke of the expense of the contents within.

He pushed himself off of the floor and gingerly set the box on the bed. With a hand on each side on the top of the box, he lifted the lid with care and set it aside with care. He removed the tissue that covered the contents to reveal a piece of clothing that was clearly worn often, but was well maintained.

The hooks and snaps shined in the soft bedroom light. Mycroft ran his thumb over the smooth cold metal and the soft straps of the cloth.

He removed the outfit with reverence and donned it with equal care, affixing the snaps and hooks, savoring the tight feel of them against his body.

He felt stunning. As much as he enjoyed his Saville Row three piece fitted suits and his custom hand crafted Italian leather shoes, nothing could compare to the power and authority he felt wearing his most prized possession, well, aside from the collection that stayed confined to his locked basement.

Feeling satisfied, Mycroft made his way down the stairs to the entry way once more, gathering the package from the side-table. He opened a secret compartment from under the table to reveal a small set of keys.

With the keys and package, he walked to the locked door slightly hidden by a coat rack in the basement. Mycroft felt it was a necessary measure to hide his interests from prying eyes, and most importantly his detective love. He unlocked the door and swung it open to reveal a dark stairway to a basement. He maneuvered himself into the staircase with the box in tow, and flipped a switch to illuminate his way. Mycroft steadily walked down the stairs, taking his time so not to drop the package under his arm.

Soon, he was in the basement, the light from the stairs dimly provided some view of what was before him. He groped around for another switch and the basement was lit with carefully placed lights shining over a table, veiled by a white cloth. The table was lumpy, covering the toys that were hidden underneath. Mycroft, for now ignored the carefully placed ridges and shapes that were concealed, and focus instead on opening his package. He set his package on a mobile workstation table and retrieved a long sharp knife to slice the packaging tape on the top and slides of the box. With flicks of his wrist, the top of the parcel was opened. Mycroft parted the top flaps and dug through packaging peanuts and quickly found what he was looking for. The item was one Mycroft had been pining for so long. It was a rare thing, Mycroft had to hunt down a seller in the Americas to find just the right one. It took some bartering and minor amounts of suggested blackmail, but it was worth it for all the enjoyment he would get out of it. The figure of it was exquisite, just what he always imagined it feeling like. He knew it would fit perfectly, and it would add to his collection nicely.   

Mycroft, with the item in hand, walked over to the massive table, lit with the overhead lights and removed the cloth with all the precise movements and dexterity of a magician. The set up of the table was impressive, it spoke of years of collection and fine taste. Mycroft let himself fully relax. Now he could truly indulge in his guilty pleasure. But then, he could hear the door open and close. Mycroft froze.

“My? My, I’m home. Where are you? I saw the keys on the table. I got off work early and I was hoping we could have a night in. I was thinking Indian. Your brother put all of us through the ringer today. Although, he did make a total arse of Anderson, which is always a laugh… My?”

Mycroft went into a panic. He stood there dithering and internally pacing (actual pacing would have made too much noise) deciding whether to answer his well meaning lover or not.

“Love? You alright?”

Mycroft prayed to the heavens that his boyfriend would not see the door.

“What’s this?”

_Dammit, he saw the door. He wouldn’t be the detective inspector that I love if he couldn’t solve the mystery of where I was. I was hoping to reveal this to him later, when our relationship was more…more comfortable._

“Love, are you down here?”

No response.

“I’m coming down.”

The detective inspector, step by creaking step, descended into the basement. Mycroft winced and prepared for the, no doubt, endless ridicule and the dissolving of the first happy and satisfying relationship of his life. In what felt like a glacial age to Mycroft, the detective finally reached the end of the basement. The inspector paused and took in the scene; Mycroft in his outfit and the lit table.

“Gregory, I can ex-”

“Why have you put this here?”

…

“On mine, I have that same piece but I arrange it here.” Gregory smiled brightly at his love. “I didn’t know you were into this. I really wish you told me earlier.”

Mycroft was speechless. “You-you don’t think this is-”

“Is what, Love? I think this is brilliant. And your outfit is adorable. Where have you been hiding this?”

Mycroft avoided eye-contact, worried that he was about to be teased. He answered in a soft voice, “Under the bed.”

“I’ll have to order one too.”

To that Mycroft snapped his eyes to Gregory’s, “Don’t tease. Don’t be cruel!”

“What? Love, I would never!”

Gregory gestures to the table, “This is nothing to be ashamed of. So what, you like this, I don’t care. I like this too, I want to share it with you. We can work on your collection and make it better! I can bring mine and it’ll be better than it was before!”

“Stop-stop! You can’t be this accepting, this is too good to be true! I’m dressed as a train conductor for Heaven’s sake. What man in his forties gets this excited about model train sets?! Freaks! That’s what I am. So laugh, just laugh.” In a rare show of emotion, Mycroft’s eyes water, prepared for total rejection and pain that he inevitably faced when showing his hobby, no _his passion_ , to someone.

Gregory stepped forward and palmed the side of Mycroft’s face with his hand. He smoothed his thumb over Mycroft’s cheek, wiping away the tear that managed to escape his eye.

“Sweetheart. You. Are. Not. A. Freak. I love you, and you are wonderful.” Gregory placed a heartfelt and gentle kiss on Mycroft’s lips. “Please don’t say those things about yourself.”

“You really don’t think I’m dull for this?”

“No, Love, I think you are brilliant. And the trains are something I enjoyed as a boy, you should see the set my Da left me.”

Mycroft’s tension released from his body when he sensed the genuine sentiments of his partner.

“I received a new piece today,” Mycroft paused, “a guard’s van*,” He placed the piece in the hand still at Gregory’s side.

Gregory took his hand off of Mycroft’s face and took the guard’s van in both hands. “This is a limited edition piece, where did you get it?”  Gregory said with some wonder.

“America, there’s a dealer in Montana, it took some convincing.”

“I bet, for this quality and detail. Let’s find a place for it on your set. And can I say, this is the finest set I’ve ever seen. The figurines, the bridges, the stations, and even the trees, the detail is amazing. This must of taken hours!”

“I do it as a sort of…self care, I started in sixth form and have worked on it ever since. I do this to unwind. It helps… Here, I can have control and order. Everything has its place. Everything makes sense. After all the chaos… I just want some peace…”

Gregory reflected on what was said, “That makes all the sense in the world.” He nodded to himself, “Next time, Love, don’t hide things from me. I love you, _all_ of you.” Gregory poked Mycroft in the chest, “Even this handsome outfit”

Lestrade then took both of his hands and grabbed the straps on the coverall and pulled Mycroft close “And all that’s underneath it” he whispered into Mycroft’s ear. Mycroft shivered with arousal.

Gregory released his grip on Mycroft and pushed away to inspect the train model set-up in all its glory. “As I was saying earlier, I fancy a night in. What do you say ordering in and you showing off your train set?”

Mycroft was still in a bit of a daze from Gregory’s show of affection “Yes, very good, Gregory. Yes, Indian.”

“And then after, you can take me to bed, _Conductor_ ” Gregory winks at Mycroft over his shoulder.

Mycroft was on the verge of melting on the spot from the twinkling of his lover’s eyes and shapely bum. “Sounds divine, Gregory.”

“Well, I’m off to call in our order,” Gregory sprinted past Mycroft and up the stairs. “Then I’ll be back and you can tell me all about your trains!”

As Gregory carried out his tasks upstairs, Mycroft felt this warming feeling all over his body. He felt utterly accepted and loved.

 _Maybe he’s The One_.

Mycroft reflected a bit more, _If he’s so accepting of this, maybe I can share my love of corsets and lingerie with him too?_

“Order’s placed, Love! Should be here in twenty!” Gregory shouted down.

Mycroft smiled. _Soon. I’ll let this man know me fully, skeletons in the closet and all._

 

The End!!!!

 

* * *

* A guard's van is a another name for a caboose!

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm fairly proud of this, I really hope you enjoyed it and the twist paid off. (This may have been a bit OOC...)
> 
> Leave a comment or review below please so I can know how you felt about it and any ways to improve!
> 
> Thank you, lovely Reader, you!
> 
> The ever talented The_Silent_Writer is the person to thank for the beta-ing!


End file.
